


summertime: part iii

by we_the_hollow



Series: living like we're renegades: Summer AU [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Morning Sex, Multi, Other, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Wolf!Derek, afternoon sex, all the sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5182217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_the_hollow/pseuds/we_the_hollow





	summertime: part iii

When his eyes eventually open, it is to hazy sunlight pouring through the open window, dust particles dancing through the rays. There's a heady, warm breeze making the voile twist and flap, looking like a pair of wings.

He feels like he's been sleeping for a hundred years; completely sated and rested and most of all, _happy_.

Derek is so fucking happy.

So he smiles, as if to prove it to himself, to Scott - who is still snoring, front pressed all along Derek's back - before he rolls over to bury his face into Stiles' pillow.

Inhaling, he lets the scent wash over him in waves, calming the pull in his gut he feels whenever Stiles is not within arms length, the pull that feels like his wolf will burst free from his chest in search of its lost mate.

A pull he knows Scott feels too, but slightly differently.

Derek lets his mind go blank, drifts off to a place miles away, to the basement of a house he will always call home.

It's midnight, a soft white glow filling the dark space beneath his childhood home. In any other light, this place would make Derek scared. Make the child in him run back up the rickety stairs and into his mothers arms, with stories of eyes in the shadows and gnarled hands in the rays of light from the floorboards above.

But in this light, Derek is safe.

In this silvery, bright light, Derek is _strong_ and _powerful_ and _brilliant_. This is the first time he was successful in a full shift. This is the night he first lost Stiles.

The wolf before him is pacing, so he reasons with it, as he has done since it began showing signs of attachment towards Stiles.

 **What do you feel?** He asks, holding out a hand as it goes back and forth in front of him, nose upturned and twitching. It comes to a halt when it notices Derek's hand, pushes up into his palm with its giant head and sits.

 _ **I feel the current of a sea breeze.**_ It says, eyes closing over and mouth hanging open as it pants wearily. Derek's fingers sink into the midnight black fur, and he scratches the wolf's scalp.

 **Good. Good. Is there anything different about it?** He says, coming to sit beside it, fingers only leaving their position for a second as he steadies himself before moving to the space just behind its left ear.

 ** _It-it is disturbed. As if something is blocking it._** Replies the wolf, leaning further into Derek's touch.

 **Very good, now, what do you smell?** He asks as he runs his hands over the shiny fur, once the length of its body and twice for luck. The wolf lies down slowly, its whole demeanour changing as it sinks lower and lower.

**_I smell mint. I smell raspberries._ **

**Yes**.

The wolf opens its eyes to look at Derek before flopping sideways and putting its head in his lap.

**_He is here, nearby?_ **

**As always.**

A teenage Stiles walks out of the shadows then, sniffling a little, lip split, bloody, and red jacket torn. He's fine, just a little in shock. His shoulders are tense and he's hiding his hands, but he's here. He's alive.

Derek smiles as the wolf twitches its nose one last time before it drifts off to sleep.

And with his wolf as sated as him, Derek inhales deeper. The memories of early morning flood his head in tones of purple and deep red, amber and pinkpinkpink and pull him back to present.

With the explosions of colour bursting across his vision comes the rich scent of white oak and honey, of bergamot and jasmine. Then finally, as a lasting note that seems to settle into his skin, his muscle and his veins, the dizzying tangy mixture of fresh raspberries and ripe oranges.

It is familiar and sweet and it tickles the roof of his mouth and it is Stiles in his purest form.

Derek rolls over, ears pricking up and cheeks pinking at the sight and sounds.

Scott has stopped snoring but he's still sleeping, little snuffles and murmurs falling from his lips. The covers have moved slightly, so that the dimples at the bottom of his spine are showing. Derek kisses each one lightly, before turning his attention elsewhere.

There's music playing lowly in the background - maybe the next room or the balcony - something soothing and slow; Kira's yoga CD, he thinks.

And there he is, this boy, this young man, who fills his senses and his mind and his veins, stood off to the side of the bed and stark naked, purple plumes of smoke from the joint he's smoking curling up towards the ceiling. His eyes are closed and his head is tilted upwards, throat bared and lips parted, breathing languid through his nose and the side of his mouth.

He looks gorgeous like this; pale skin bleached out against the midday sun pouring through the blinds, constellations of freckles and moles adorning every inch of him, edges soft, seeming to glow.

His hair is sticking up in every direction, parts hanging in strands over his eyes. He speaks before Derek can tell him.

"Give me a break," Stiles says lowly, amusement in his scratchy voice as he takes a drag of the weed and bends to wrap his fingers around his ankles, "I just fucked you both to within an inch of your lives, my hair isn't gonna look runway ready," and instead of being startled, Derek just sits up straighter, responds,

"You always look runway ready to me," he's given up trying to figure out whether Stiles can actually read his mind or whether it's just one of his many quirks that he just happens to know what Derek is thinking.

And then, with a snort, "My mom definitely would of told me if mind reading ran in the family," as he's straightening up again, reaching towards the ceiling on the tips of his toes, one eye cracked open to look at Derek who has moved to the edge of the bed now, Scott's legs a welcome heat against his spine, covers abandoned with no time for bashfulness.

Stiles turns to face him for the next pose; kicks the mat aside as he comes to kneel between Derek's legs, locking their eyes, amber on green, running his hands up from Derek's knees to his thighs as he arches his back.

His ribs and hips strain against the taut skin as his hands leave Derek, then, to wrap around his own ankles. Stiles holds the position for a minute, shivering when he feels Derek leaning over, hands on him, running from his hip bones to his collar, guiding him down into the last position.

Stiles only breathes again when his shoulder blades make contact with the cool floor and he swings his legs out to straighten them.

Derek is still right there, a weight on Stiles' chest, and he kisses him lightly on the chin.

And it feels like a promise as Derek sinks fangs into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, Scott appearing behind them to run a fingernail down the length of Derek's spine and back up.

"I thought you were supposed to be a werewolf, not a vampire," Scott says, eliciting a growl from Derek that he feels in his groin. He knows there is a smirk on his lips even as he feels the barest hint of claws digging into his ribs.

Yeah. Definitely a promise.


End file.
